


59 Missed Calls

by NightChanghes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 59 missed calls, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Music, Post-Reichenbach, Series 4, TJLC, The Empty Hearse, The Reichenbach Fall, The Six Thatchers, sherlock season 4, sound track
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:10:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9104125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightChanghes/pseuds/NightChanghes
Summary: In which a Post-Reichenbach John Watson copes with his grief by calling Sherlock 59 times over.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamed_untranslatable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamed_untranslatable/gifts).



> This fic is based off the leaked soundtrack titles we got for The Six Thatchers. One track stood out to me, 59 Missed Calls, and I just had to write it as a fic. 
> 
> I am nearly certain this is not the canon meaning of that track, but perhaps it will tide us over until we find the true meaning of it as Series 4 airs. 
> 
> A very large thank you to Katherine (tamed_untranslatable) for helping me flesh out a lot of the parts in this story! You must go read her fics, they are absolutely incredible. 
> 
> Thanks for reading by the way. Now, enjoy.

_This is Sherlock Holmes. Don’t bother leaving a message. In fact, in the future, don’t bother calling at all. Send me a text or reach me through John’s blog... Please leave a message after the tone, when you are finished recording, you may hang up or press 1 for more options._

-

John Watson squeezed his eyes shut as the answering machine finished up with a short beep. He felt himself trapped in the silence of the voicemail that no one would ever hear. He finally, with great hesitation, pressed the red button on his phone to disconnect the call. Breath escaped his lips as the phone swung down limply to his side with his hand.

Two weeks had passed since Sherlock fell. Two weeks and John was numb. He felt empty like the void of silence he had just committed to Sherlock’s voicemail box.

That was the first call.

-

The second call came when John was drunk. He’d had a bit too much whiskey as he sat on his couch marathoning James Bond movies and thinking about the night that he had convinced Sherlock to watch them with him. Sherlock had adamantly refused, but after only 15 minutes into _Goldfinger_ , despite incessantly blogging during the first moments of the film, was on the edge of his seat, arms hugging his knees and eyes glued to the television. After the movie had ended, he had tried to convince John he still thought the Bond films were a waste of time, but had failed miserably. John smiled at the memory but kept pouring more whiskey into his glass, almost subconsciously, as he hoped the pain of his memories would go away.

However, the brief loss of his memories and with the hyperboles of his drunken mind, John became convinced that he had forgotten the sound of Sherlock’s voice.

So, he dialed Sherlock. The phone rang incessantly until finally, after what John thought seemed like hours, he heard the familiar, soft, comforting sound of Sherlock’s voice. His drunken mind allowed him to chuckle at the voicemail as it was a clear creation of Holmes himself, but, John thought, indeed a colder reflection of who the man really was. Or _had been_ , he supposed. John frowned at this last thought of his. Sherlock was now past tense. And, as John lived in the present, he felt further from Sherlock than he had this entire time of grieving.

John wasn’t sure what message he left in his blurred state of mind, but he decided that was for the best. He took one last swig of whiskey straight from the bottle before lying down on his couch and passing out.

-

Calls three and four were on the same day. John had finally emerged from his flat. He didn’t really want to go out, but milk grows sour and he wanted cereal. He admitted it was a bit sloppy to just be mourning with the company of alcohol and cereal, but he was convinced he was coping. In the moments before he turned the handle to open his door out into the world, John decided he needed Sherlock to help him. He pulled out his phone and quickly called. The voice spoke quickly, so John swung open the door as fast as he could and rushed out onto the sidewalk. He probably looked a bit odd rushing out of his place so quickly, but John avoided looking at anyone around who may have seen as he hurried off to the grocers.

John called Sherlock again when “that cock of a chip and pin machine” gave him trouble like it always did.

-

The next week, John heard about a murder case in the news. With investigators apparently ‘baffled’ and John feeling particularly lonely, he called Sherlock.

“There’s a case here for you. Just, come back. Come back, please.” and with a broken voice, John hung up. Call five took John straight to voicemail, he supposed Sherlock's phone did have to die eventually.

-

Call six was nothing. Just a quick dial and hang up before he could hear the voicemail. John was determined he needed to just let go already.

-

The next day, after John had silently resolved to never call Sherlock again, he called again. It was a call made by a broken man who wouldn’t admit that he was broken. So, he rambled on for a few minutes, not allowing silence to creep into the conversation. John hung up feeling a bit better. Sherlock couldn’t respond, but he could listen, and for some reason, that comforted John. The seventh call was seven minutes in heaven.

-

The eighth call was some time later, but was an experiment John would not be trying again. Phone sex, as it turns out, does not work over voicemail. On that day, John was particularly grateful that Sherlock would never hear his messages.

-

John decided, on the first of October, to call Sherlock and wish him happy holidays. He didn’t know why, but he’d always felt that October was the start of the season, and Sherlock has always loved the holidays.

-

“It’s a bit gloomy out today. Not really any different.” John couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he hung up on his tenth call.

-

Call eleven was a butt dial. Sherlock was pretty much the only person he’d phoned in 5 months. No one was very happy with John for that, but life goes on.

-

“So, I’ve decided that for Halloween, I’m going to dress in a warm sweater and sit on the couch while I await the buzzing of my doorbell and hands grabbing for candy.” John paused. “ Perhaps I should refuse to give candy to anyone not dressed as a pirate. As a sort of tribute to you. Your brother mentioned that once, that you had always wanted to be a pirate as a child. I’m still not sure what to take from that, except that tonight is going to be particularly hard if a pirate shows up on my doorstep…”

-

The day after Halloween, John called again to tell Sherlock that two little boys had showed up at the door dressed up as small versions of himself and Sherlock. “I hope you don’t mind…in fact I’m sure you _won’t mind_ , but along with candy, I gave them each a deerstalker that fans had sent before you-- just… _before._ ” This was far worse than any pirate he saw later on that evening.

-

The fourteenth was made on a Sunday in November. “I was walking around town, which has gotten much easier by the way, and I saw a blue scarf in the window of a shop. I think you would have liked it. I nearly went in and bought it for you, but I decided it wasn’t worth it to leave a £200 scarf on a tombstone.”

-

Call fifteen was a rant. “Bloody hell, Sherlock. You knew what losing you would do to me. I’m slipping right back to where I was before you.”

-

“I’m sorry, sometimes the weight of your loss is just too much Sherlock. I just…why did you have to jump? Why, Sherlock? I could have helped. Was I not enough? Was I nothing to you?” The calls, for John, were getting too hard. He was angry and he was lost. After the sixteenth call, John decided to give it a rest and go about life.

-

On December 23rd it hit John that he had forgotten the sound of Sherlock’s violin. He so desperately wanted to go to their old flat and grab a tape to listen to for Christmas, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t been back there since a few days after the fall. So he gave in and called Sherlock once again. “I miss your violin.”

-

On December 24th John called in the middle of a Christmas party at Mike Stamford’s. “I wish you were here Sherlock. I know Christmas was a bit of a disaster last year, but at least you were here. People are right, the holiday’s are the hardest part of loss.” John took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “ I just wish…” But John couldn’t say anymore. He hung up the phone and rejoined old friends with a painful smile on his face.

-

On December 25th the call was silent in John’s realization that Sherlock was not coming back. “Happy Christmas.”

-

“Sherlock, it’s nearly January 1st” John slurred his words, “I’d reallllly like it if you’d be my new years kiss.” He let out a little ‘humph’ and a smile in his drunken state. “Don’t tell anyone I’ve said this, but I’d realllllly like a kiss from you.” John gave his phone a little peck and hung up. When the clock struck midnight, John was alone in a sea of people locking lips.

-

“Today, I saw a man who looked a bit like Anderson. You would’ve loved seeing it, Sherlock. His eyes were all bulging out of his head and his facial hair was a mess. It wasn’t him of course, Anderson’s too much of a…you know. Anyways, if it had been him, it would probably have pleased you very much. All you really wanted in life, I’m sure. So, Happy Birthday Sherlock Holmes. You deserve it.”

Call twenty-one was meant to be lighthearted, but birth was, to John, just another reminder of death.

-

“I’d like to think, if you were alive, that we’d be together by now. I wish with every bone in my body that I had said those words before you fell. But I couldn’t. So here I am, alone. Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock Holmes, be mine?”

John sat in silence after he hung up the phone. It was time, he thought.

The glossy, black headstone on which the name “Sherlock Holmes” was etched in gold, stood out among a clutter of grey memorials. He stood before the stone, just as he had before, except this time he knelt down and placed a single white rose on the cold, February ground. “I’m always yours, Sherlock Holmes. I-“ But he couldn’t say it. He was certain he never would and that was all right with John Watson.

-

The twenty-third call was answered.

April Fools.

However, John did call on the 1st of April with the absurd hope that this all might be some intricate, twisted plan of Sherlock’s, but he was sent straight to voicemail and John hung up without a word. He knew it was absurd to even think that Sherlock might answer, but, he thought, what is life without hope.

-

Calls twenty-four through thirty were taken care of not long after.

On April 5th, John awoke at 2 am, his left hand trembling and vivid images from his dream still fluttering in front of his eyes. It was the first time he had dreamt about Sherlock’s fall since the weeks after it had happened. He had tried to block it out, but there he was, 10 months later, sitting up in his bed, sobbing and trying to find a way to escape the images painted across his mind. He called Sherlock. He wasn’t sure if it would help or hurt, but he couldn’t stay away. He listened to the answering machine and felt his breath slowing and his tears subsiding. He hung up and called again. He lay back in his bed and listened to the voice of his friend seven times over until he fell asleep with his phone cradled in his hands.

-

“I posted on the blog today. It’s been so long, but I just had to do it. I started writing after I dreamt of you. I need to let go, to move on with my life, and the only way I’m going to do it is by accepting that you’re gone. I think you’d like to read my blog post from today, but considering you’re gone, I’ll read it to you.

_It feels odd. Coming back here. This blog. It's taken me about a week to write this. I kept coming back. Deleting bits. Adding bits. The thing is, I'm not an emotional person. I'm emotional, obviously. I have emotions but I don't embrace grief. I guess I'm very British._

_I don't like to talk about it._

_But I've been told that I should talk about it. That if I don't talk about it, I'll be how I was pre-Sherlock. And I can't go back to that. I've a life now._

_I understand that he's dead. And I accept it. I still believe in him. In who he was. The truth behind that will come out, I believe that. But Sherlock is dead and that period of my life is behind me._

_And that's what life is. Things happen. Then they're in the past. And you move on to new things. New people. New friends. New beginnings._

_But it's also important not to forget the past. And I've found a few photos and a few blog posts I never finished so over the next few weeks I'll be doing that really. Remembering the past._

_And I won't feel sad about it. Not any more. Because they were good times. We did good and we had fun. And that's what I'm going to remember. My best friend, and he'd kill me for saying that's what he was, is dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead._

_But, by God, he'll never be forgotten._

And it’s true Sherlock, I will never forget you.”

That was call thirty-one.

-

May 2nd brought call thirty-two. “I went for a date. I don’t think you’d like to know that, but I suppose not all is what we’d like it to be.

She’s nice. Her name’s Mary, we met through work and I think she’s going to be very good for me.”

-

“M’sorry it’s been so long Sherlock. Life has been so busy with work and family and now Mary, of course. But it’s June now, and I reckon I’ll be calling more often now. I’ve been dreading June.

It’s funny; anniversaries are so often a time for celebration, but not this one. To think that it’ll have been a yea-”

‘John? Who’re you talking to?’

‘No one, hold on a minute.’

“Alright,” John said in a hushed sort of tone “Mary’s yelling for me, but I’ll talk to you again soon.”

-

June 16th

The first call

“Today’s the day, isn’t it, Sherlock, the day that you didn’t come back. I never thought you would stay...dead. I just, I wish you weren’t. Somehow.”

The second call

“A year sure solidifies things. Up until now, I really did hold out hope that you had some sort of plan, some sort of way out of the grave. But you- you’re gone and you aren’t coming back. You said goodbye to me over the phone so I suppose it’s my turn. Goodbye Sherlock. That’s all I have to offer, Sherlock. A goodbye.”

The third call

“I’m on my fifth drink and I should probably stop, but Jesus, fuck, it hurts so much without you. Please.”

The fourth call

Silence engulfed the last call of the day. John just had to hear the voice one more time before he drank himself into oblivion.

-

The next time John called it was because he’d just walked by Angelo’s.

“I was tempted to tell Mary about it. Maybe even take her for a meal, but that’s our place, that’s our memory.”

John didn’t say much else; just that he missed Sherlock and all was going well.

-

The thirty-ninth call was John reminiscing about a case he was writing up for the blog. The Inexplicable Matchbox to be exact. Unfortunately, due to state secrets, that conversation cannot be disclosed in this context.

-

John had just seen Lestrade for the first time in ages, and the reminder of Sherlock was just too incredibly heavy for John to deal with.

Lestrade had dropped off a box of Sherlock’s things; a DVD caught John’s eye. He poured himself a drink and placed the disc in the player.

What he saw was a funny, flawed, ordinary version of Sherlock that he had nearly forgotten amidst the constant tabloid talk about “the sociopathic detective.”

However, before he even had time to process what Sherlock was saying to him over the screen, Mary arrived and that was that.

“I’ve decided to stop blogging. I think I’ve just gotten myself stuck on the past we had and not the future I have to look forward to. Of course, Sherlock, I suppose that means I should probably stop calling as well, but not quite yet, I don’t think.”

-

Call forty-one was a simple “I’m growing a mustache, Sherlock. Not sure you’d like it, but life goes on.”

-

“I took Mary to your grave today. She wanted to see what it was like, wanted me to open up about what’d happened. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, share you with her I mean, but life goes on, and maybe it was good for me in the end. “

-

John was drunk when he reached for his phone next. Nothing important happened in that call, or if it did, he was too drunk to remember.

-

John noticed his calls were becoming short and casual. He couldn’t decide if it was because he was trying to distance himself from Sherlock or if he really was healing. He didn’t know how to tell the difference really, but it almost seemed like his calls were more casual now. Just an update here and a memory there, Sherlock would appreciate that, John thought.

His forty-fourth call came after this contemplation. As always, he called to simply discuss his thoughts to an empty receiver, ask questions that would never be answered and pause in moments of silence to make up his own responses in his mind.

Sure, to an outsider, John might have seemed a bit mad, but he was finally coping, _functioning_ , and that was all he wanted. Who needed a therapist when he had the voicemail box of Sherlock Holmes.

-

“Can I be quite honest, Sherlock? I’d have never fallen for Mary if you were here. I’m not even sure I _have_ fallen for her. She’s pretty ordinary, nothing like you really. She gets me out of the house, but for rather domestic things, like grocery shopping and buying new shoes. I think I just like having someone to ground me, to help keep my wits about me, but if you were here, I’d avoid her. She’s the key to the cookie cutter life I feared for so long before I met you. But, perhaps it’s time to settle down.”

-

John didn’t know why, but he just couldn’t escape Sherlock Holmes. Over a year gone by and he was still stuck with Sherlock on his mind. Sure, he had moments where he forgot the pain, but then someone would come into his practice with a stain on their tie and he would wonder what Sherlock would deduce about them or other times he’d find himself ordering in Chinese food with Mary and her friends, and the fortune cookie he had gotten on the first night he spent with Sherlock would flash back to him and leave him breathless and alone amidst a group of chattering voices.

Life moving onwards was nothing new under the sun, but oh how John Watson longed for that fortune to be proven wrong like it had been on that first night he spent with Sherlock so long ago.

John tried with all of his might to not depend on him in those moments of memory, but the only times that truly mattered to him featured Sherlock Holmes.

The calls he made when he felt suffocating loneliness in groups of people or the times when he feared that life was going to pass him by were the most painful for him. He rarely knew what to say and often times didn’t speak a word. He knew that was all right, Sherlock wasn’t there to listen anyways.

“I saw someone who looked like you on the tube today. He had curly hair and piercing eyes and I couldn’t avert my eyes. He probably didn’t even look like you, but my mind projected you onto his figure. I think it was the result of this odd sort of hope that had me thinking ‘what if?’”

“The fortune cookie I got tonight said ‘Sometimes a stranger can bring great meaning to your life.’ What are the odds? It triggered the memories of you, Sherlock, and I wondered how life might have been different if that’s the fortune I had gotten on that fateful night. You gave my life meaning and now you’re gone.”

“Mary insisted we play _Cluedo_ tonight, she knows I’d rather not, but she insisted it’d be good for me. Sometimes she really thinks she knows better. She knew it would bring you back to me, that it’d be sheer torture for me, but she said I need to get over it all.

She’s probably right.”

“I keep meaning to call Mrs. Hudson. I know you’d probably be pretty pissed at me if you knew I hadn’t phoned her. Anyways, I saw her today, from the end of an isle at the grocer’s. As soon as I saw her, I slipped away, hopefully unseen. I knew it would hurt all over again if I went to greet her.”

“God, life is so boring without you. You needed cases; I needed you to need me for cases.

Nowadays, I like to make up little crime narratives in my head about the patients I see.

What were his motives in killing his brother?

When did they snap, and what secret are they hiding?

Where was she when the family bank account was emptied?

I like to think you probably did that when you were bored. In a sort of twisted way, it makes me feel closer to you.”

To sum it up, calls forty-six through fifty were made up by ramblings about Sherlock being the missing piece in John’s life.

-

“Happy Halloween, Sherlock Holmes. Don’t you dare come to my door dressed as a zombie. I’d be bloody pissed off. Though I suppose I wouldn’t really mind you returning.”

-

“Alright, I know it’s only been 6 months, but I’m not going to find anyone else, am I? I wish you were here to knock sense into me, but my God, Sherlock, I think I’m going to propose to Mary. Tell me I’m not completely insane, it just feels so good to be wanted by someone. Life is empty without you, so I might as well, right?”

-

John’s fifty-third call was to tell Sherlock he’d gotten Mary a ring.

“I’m sure you’d scold me on my choice, say it was unnecessary, but I’ve got to make up the difference in my love for her somehow. Fuck, that sounds cold.”

-

“Am I doing the right thing, Sherlock? Oh God. I don’t know. I just wish you were here, I wish none of this had happened. I wish you hadn’t jumped.”

-

John phoned Sherlock five times on the day of the proposal.

“It’s today, I’m proposing today. I’m finally at peace with it, with all of this. I really think it’s the right decision. Mary has turned my life around, made it bearable to survive without you, and I think that’s all I have to say on the matter.”

“Christ Sherlock, can you believe I nearly forgot dinner reservations.” John chuckled

“Sherlock, I did it. I went back to the flat. Our flat. 221B. Naturally, Mrs. Hudson was peeved, but I think she was relieved in the end. Saw I was doing well, though she didn’t much prefer my mustache.

Sherlock, she’s still devastated. Hasn’t even touched our old rooms. Our chairs are still sat right across from one another, the dust you refused to clear away has settled in like another piece of furniture, the wallpaper is still covered in bullet holes and yellow smiley faces. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how much it hurt. I could still hear your violin playing, I could still feel your eyes watching me from your spot at the desk, I could still smell the familiar scent of your favorite soap. God Sherlock, I miss you. But, like I told Mrs. Hudson, I’m moving on.”

“Here it goes Sherlock, just two hours to dinner and the inevitable moment I’ll truly have to let go of you. I hope you’re savouring this.”

“Sherlock, I’ve got to make this quick, but I’m sat here while Mary’s in the restroom and I don’t know, I don’t think I can do this. I keep trying to tell myself it’ll be all right, but I’m not convinced. Not when I know, not when I know how much I lo- _the voicemail box you are attempting to reach is now full. Please try again later._ ”

-know how much I loved you, thought John, his eyes shut and his head dropped a bit, anything to stop his world from spinning any faster. His stomach was turning, his heart was shattered and in that moment, he knew the words had come too late. Why couldn’t he have said it two years ago instead of letting them slip on the night he was going to propose to someone?

Someone who was not Sherlock Holmes.

On top of it all, though John didn’t want to think about it, no one was going to clear the voicemail box either. That was it, that was his last conversation with Sherlock Holmes, and it could not have left him more unsettled.

A love confession cut short by the beeping of a voicemail box that would never be cleared as it was filled up with messages that would never be heard.

But John got his wits about him for it was time to let go. He knew that, and it seemed that the universe did too.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by the voice of a waiter to which he responded by asking for champagne recommendations. This was meant to be a celebration after all.

He downed the last of the wine in his glass and fidgeted with the ring box in the pocket of his suit jacket.

“Sorry that took so long, you okay?” Mary said as she brushed her hand against John’s shoulder.

John struggled to reply, his mind still riddled with thoughts of words left unsaid, “Yeah, yeah, me? Fine. I am fine.”

He managed to crack a small smile and he took a deep breath.

“Now then,” Mary prompted, “what did you want to ask me?”

What unfolded next was a muddle of John tripping over his words while trying to bring himself back to earth and Mary’s expectant comments as she waited for the moment John would propose.

John was so close he was just reaching for the ring when the pesky waiter from earlier shoved a bottle of champagne right between himself and Mary.

“No sorry, not now.” John honestly couldn’t help but snicker at the fact that the universe was seemingly working against him at every turn, first Sherlock’s full voicemail box, and now the proposal? It seemed that life could not get any more absurd than in that moment, _but it did._

John looked up as the waiter persisted in his rabid champagne quest and that’s when he saw him.

_Sherlock._

John’s eyes grew wide, his nostrils flared, his body lost all strength, and even his heart couldn’t decide whether to explode or shrivel up.

Sherlock stood before him, babbling on about mustaches and disguises and all John could do was stare. He glanced at Mary, but quickly averted his eyes from her. He couldn’t even think about what was happening. _But I just let go,_ John thought, _you couldn’t have come back any sooner? For fuck’s sake, Sherlock, even an hour ago would have been better, but now? Why now?_

A ringing in John’s ears blocked out the sounds around him and forced him into a prison with his own thoughts. He could see Sherlock’s lips moving, touching on each syllable, and racing on, faster and faster and faster. John Watson stood clumsily, his chair scooting out from under him with a screech across the tile floor. He took a sharp breath in, attempting to find any moment of peace within his frenzied mind.

“Not dead.” For but a moment, Sherlock’s voice came back in to focus.

John pressed his trembling hand in a fist against the wood of the table as a sort of attempt to silence the commotion whirling around him. In a suppressed whisper John spoke “Two years." A deep breath paused his words,"Two years.” John’s wide eyes fell as the realization of Sherlock's return hit him in another wave. “I thought,” though words failed him for a moment, he continued “I thought you were dead.” He let out a sound, almost prompting Sherlock to reply, but left no room for Sherlock to speak. The voice of Sherlock he knew was composed of 29 words on an answering machine. “Now, you let me grieve. How could you do that? How?” The anger caused by shock, betrayal and lost time boiled inside John and he allowed himself to let go.

John grabbed for fabric, any sort of fabric on Sherlock’s suit and used this to leverage himself as he pushed Sherlock with all the force he had in him. John wasn’t sure if he would have ever let go of Sherlock had waiters and patrons not pried him off of the curly haired figure lying breathless on the red-and-black checkerboard tiles of the restaurant.

Sherlock Holmes was back.

-

“Sherlock, you are going to tell me how you did it? How you jumped off that building and survived?”

“You know my methods John, I am known to be indestructible.”

“No, but seriously. When you were dead, I went to your grave.”

“I should hope so.”

“I made a little speech. I actually spoke to you, I asked you for one more miracle, I asked you to stop being dead.”

“I know. I was there. I heard you.”

“I called you. 59 times, Sherlock. 59 times. Just once you could have answered. I told you so much in those calls, Sherlock, so much.”

“Yes, John, I listened.”


End file.
